Fix You
by a.lakewood
Summary: After Sam starts tutoring a football player's girlfriend  and she starts cheating on said boyfriend with Dean , Sam ends up on the receiving end of bullying that escalates out of control. Dean tries to put the pieces of his brother back together again.


**Title**: Fix You  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: AU. Underage non-con, underage non-graphic Wincest. (Sam's 17.)  
**Rating**: R (for themes and language)  
**Word** **Count**: ~4800  
**Summary**: After Sam starts tutoring a football player's girlfriend (and she starts cheating on said boyfriend with Dean), Sam ends up on the receiving end of bullying that escalates out of control. Dean tries to put the pieces of his brother back together again.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo  
**

It all started when Sam's math teacher, Mr. Erickson, asked the class if anyone wanted to earn a little extra credit. Sam hadn't done as well as he'd hoped on his last trigonometry test, so he hung back after class to talk to Mr. Erickson about the extra credit offer. "What've we gotta do?" Sam asked when all the other students had gone.

"I need someone to tutor Katie Wells. If she doesn't get her grade in my class up, she'll be ineligible for sports and extra-curriculars."

Katie Wells was a senior track star (which was why Mr. Erickson, also her track coach, was interested in her grade), varsity cheerleader (also the girlfriend of Jason Russell – a defensive lineman bigger than Dean that looked like he could probably bench-press Sam) and, Sam knew from experience from sitting behind her in class for a month, dumber than a box of rocks. "How much extra credit are we talking?"

Mr. Erickson laughed. "Half a grade if you can get her to a C-plus, B-minus level?"

Sam hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."

"Great! Stop by after school today and you, Katie, and I can go over her problem areas."

"All right. Sounds like a plan." Sam started for the door.

"Thanks, Sam. I really appreciate this."

Sam just nodded again, thinking his teacher shouldn't be thanking him just quite yet. "You're welcome."

**oxo**

Sam had intended to keep his tutoring sessions with Katie limited to the school library, but she whined and complained until he gave in and let them study outside. Sam thought for sure there would be way too many distractions for her to focus, but he was pleasantly surprised when she relaxed and slowly started grasping the concepts he was teaching her.

At least, until one of their sessions ran late and Dean pulled up along the curb twenty or so feet from their picnic table on the school's front lawn. Katie's eyes went wide when she caught sight of Dean climbing out of the Impala.

"Heya, Sammy," Dean said as he moseyed over towards them.

Katie leaned over the table to question Sam in a harsh whisper, "You know him?"

"Yeah, I know him. He's my brother." Even as Sam rolled his eyes at her typical and expected reaction, his chest still swelled with pride the way it always did when he got to tell someone Dean was his brother. But he quickly deflated when something alarmingly like jealously pierced his satisfaction at the way Dean's intense gaze focused on Katie.

After that, Katie requested that their tutoring sessions move to Sam's and he couldn't exactly tell her 'no,' mostly for the fact that he couldn't even _explain_ why he didn't want her near his brother. She became pretty friendly after that, always greeted him with, "Hi, Sam," and a genuine smile regardless of whether or not she was with her friends or her boyfriend, tacking on a "see you tonight!" on Tuesdays and Thursdays when they'd meet.

It wasn't long after they began their new arrangement that Sam realized that his brother and Katie were hooking up. Dean pretended like he was trying to hide it, but Sam knew Dean too well, knew that if Dean didn't want anybody – including Sam – to know what he was doing, no one would have the slightest idea.

Turned out Sam wasn't the only one that noticed Katie's new extracurricular – Jason did, too. And that was about the time his bullying started. It started out with just words. Jason called him a freak, a faggot, anything that he could think of that could (and did) get to Sam. Soon, he was physically attacking him, too. Jason would throw his shoulder into Sam's or an elbow into his gut when they passed in the hall. Knock his books out of his hands. Shove Sam into his locker. Never when Katie was anywhere near and always to the delight of his teammates, who would laugh and cheer him on.

And it all just kept escalating until one day after school, Jason followed Sam outside. It was still kind of early or Dean was running late, but Sam couldn't see the Impala anywhere. Jason seemed to be watching for the familiar car, too – his eyes darted about the street and the parking lot between shoves and hateful words – and he didn't miss the look of utter relief on Sam's face when the Impala finally came into view. Jason punched him square in the back before whispering in his ear. "I know what you are, Winchester. Your days are numbered." It was cliché, but still made Sam's blood run cold. Then he shoved Sam away. "Now get out of my sight, you fucking fag."

Then, abruptly, Jason left him alone. The football player watched him for weeks like he was biding his time, but he never said anything, never did anything, and Sam was thankful. He didn't breathe a word of any of it to anyone, especially not Dean.

**oxo**

Final grades for the quarter came in and Katie's grade was sitting comfortably in the B-minus/B range – a lot better than Sam ever thought she could do – and Sam's A-minus was raised to a high A. Sam informed Katie that their tutoring sessions were over and he hoped that would help keep Jason off his case completely since Katie would no longer be hanging out at his place and would be nowhere near his brother (which, Sam was pretty certain, was the sole reason that Jason was bullying him in the first place). But Katie seemed to understand that no more tutoring sessions meant no more sneaking around with Dean, so, after class, she broke up with Jason. In the middle of the hall, in front of everyone. Including Sam. After the crowd dispersed for lunch, Jason followed after him.

"How's that make you feel, Winchester? Knowing that your brother's gonna be fucking my girlfriend instead of you like you want him to?"

Sam's eyes widened at that as he turned to face Jason. "What the fuck's wrong with you? You're fucking _sick_." But the tremor in his voice gave him away. How the _hell_ could Jason know how Sam felt about Dean when he'd barely realized what those feelings meant himself?

"Who's the fucking sick one? Bet you'd beg for him to let you suck his dick. Or for him to put his cock up your ass. Wouldn't you, fag?"

"Stop it," Sam all but begged, making a beeline for the exit at the end of the hall.

"Where you going? Gonna go jerk off to thoughts of your brother fucking you, you sick freak?"

"Just shut the fuck up!" Sam shouted the second he got outside.

But Jason didn't. Kept it up, following Sam down towards the dense copse of trees on the opposite side of the practice field where a gym class was playing soccer.

About a mile or so beyond the trees was the small farm house Pastor Jim let passing hunters stay in for free. But Sam didn't make it out of the trees. Jason shoved him hard from behind and he went sprawling onto his hands and knees on the hard, leaf-littered ground.

"Stay just like that, _Sammy,_" Jason said, dropping his backpack somewhere behind him.

Even over the sound of the wind in the trees that carried the hollers and laughter of the gym class not that far away, Sam could hear the soft rasp of Jason's zipper coming down. He made to run, panic racing through him, but Jason grabbed onto his book bag and hauled him back, pushing him face-first into the dirt. "Don't do this. Please, don't do this."

"Knew you'd beg for it."

Sam wasn't sure when he'd blacked out, just knew it wasn't soon enough.

**oxo**

When Sam woke up what felt like years later, everything hurt and felt heavy and it seemed as though his mouth was packed with cotton when he tried to speak. He squinted against bright fluorescent light at Dean sleeping like a contortionist in the plastic chair beside Sam's metal-framed hospital bed.

Hospital. That was bad.

Sam tried to speak again, Dean's name leaving his parched lips in nothing more than a rough whisper. But it was enough for Dean to hear, shadowed eyes opening wide and staring right at Sam. He sat up quickly, placing a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder to pin him back to the bed; he drew his hand away as though he'd been bitten when Sam flinched beneath the touch.

Hurt clouded Dean's already dark eyes as he slowly eased himself back down to his chair. "Take it easy, Sammy. You'll be okay."

Sam nodded, not sure what else to do. "Water?"

"Yeah, of course." Dean hastily filled the plastic cup on the tray beside Sam's bed with ice water from the pitcher on the counter.

Sam carefully took the offered cup as Dean dropped a straw into it, making sure their fingers didn't touch where they wrapped around the plastic.

"What happened to you, Sammy?" Dean asked, concern marring his usually smooth features, as Sam slowly drank from the straw. He lifted his hand to push a few errant locks of hair away from Sam's face before thinking better of it, thinking of how Sam had shied away from his touch, dropping his hands into his lap.

"Don't know," Sam lied. "Can't remember."

"I talked to your doctor, Sam. They couldn't reach Dad, so they told me."

No. He didn't want Dean to know. Sam shook his head, his stomach twisting. "Dean..."

"They said you- that somebody-" Dean bit his lip, eyes slipping shut. "_God,_ Sammy."

Sam just watched, twisting shifting into turning as nausea swirled in his stomach, as Dean vigorously wiped tears from his eyes.

"Whoever- he worked you over, after. You've got three broken ribs, a fractured wrist. Cuts and bruises and stitches. A concussion." And Dean looked sick then, too. "How could- _Why?_"

Sam shrugged, wincing as pain arced through his shoulder and around his left side.

"Who was it? I know you know who it was. Probably the same guy that's been beating on you for weeks. Doctor said they found a lot of old bruises under all these new ones."

"Doesn't matter."

"Like _hell_ it doesn't matter! He- he _raped_ you, Sam. He-" Dean's eyes were wild and his breath went shallow and erratic like he was hyperventilating. He gripped the rail of Sam's bed until his knuckles went white and held on for a long time. "He's a monster," he finally said. "And you know what we do to monsters."

"Dean!" Sam's eyes went wide with something approaching horror at what his brother was suggesting. "You _can't._"

"He'll be lucky if that's all I do to him. He deserves so much worse for what he did to you."

"Don't."

"Who is it, Sam?"

"No."

"I can just ask the girls that found you. They were outside for gym and saw you and some guy disappear into the trees. They heard you arguing. I heard 'em talking to the cops when I got there; one of 'em had last block with you and you weren't there. She said you never miss class so she knew something was up. They went looking for you after school – she said they thought you were _dead._"

"Stop. Just stop, Dean."

"What am I supposed to do, Sam? I should've been there to protect you-"

"I'm not a kid anymore, Dean. You can't protect me from anything."

"I could've protected you from this."

"Don't blame yourself for what happened to me. There wasn't anything you could've done. No way you could've known."

"If you'd told me he was bullying you or whatever, I could've stopped it. But you don't tell me _anything_ anymore."

"We're not _kids_ anymore. I'm seventeen years old. I can take care of myself. I don't need you looking out for me."

"You're my brother, Sam. I'm always gonna look out for you. It's just the way it is."

Sam was silent for a long while. "When do I get to go home?"

"A couple more days. You're beat up pretty bad."

"How long have I been here?"

Dean glanced at the watch on his wrist. "Twenty-seven hours, forty-two minutes. Give or take." He halfheartedly attempted a smile but only succeeded in grimacing.

"Promise me you won't tell Dad."

"Sammy-"

"_Promise._"

Dean just shook his head, knowing he couldn't give Sam his word on this one. "I'll figure it out. You just get some rest."

Sam nodded once, stared at his brother a moment longer, then closed his eyes and went to sleep.

**oxo**

Dean had left the hospital that evening when the nurses finally shooed him away – his brother was fine, they promised, and Dean should go home, take a shower, get some rest, and come back in the morning. He didn't really want to leave Sam alone in the hospital over night, couldn't really ever remember a time when they'd been apart, and it made his heart twist in his chest just to think about their empty apartment and Sam sleeping in a hospital bed. But he did what the nurses said and went home.

He called his dad not ten minutes after he got in the door, but he couldn't find the words to tell him about Sam. He kept their conversation brief, asked about how John's hunt was going. "A couple more weeks," came the reply, much to Dean's relief. Then his father asked about Sam and he was forced to lie, say that Sam was doing just fine - "You know Sam, moody as ever." And that had pretty much been it. Dean had hung up the phone, checked the salt lines at the door and windows, then headed straight for the shower.

All he could think about was Sam. His brother's mottled face, the swelling and the stitches, the cast on his wrist, the only injuries he'd been able to see. Sam was kept as still as possible because of the pain he was in, the fractured ribs and deeper. His baby brother was hurt in ways Dean never could have imagined he would be. The ugly word flashed in his mind as he toweled himself off and pulled on sweats and a tee. _Rape._ And someone had done it to Sam. Some horrible excuse for a person that Sam _went to school with._ Someone _Sam's age._ Dean just didn't know how something like that happened. Especially to Sam. And he felt sick all over again, knowing he'd somehow failed his brother.

Dean walked past the closed door to his room, pushed at the slightly ajar one of Sam's and crossed the small, tidy room by the light filtering in through the too-thin curtains covering the window. He folded back the blankets of Sam's bed and climbed inside, taking comfort in the familiar scent of Sammy and falling into a fitful sleep.

**oxo**

Dean arrived at the hospital shortly after visiting hours started and there was already a police officer waiting outside of Sam's room to take his little brother's statement. Dean explained their father's absence and lied about not being able to reach him, then took the officer into Sam's room.

Sam was already awake, watching some science-y program on the Discovery channel. He eyed Dean, then the officer. "What's going on?"

"He needs to take your statement. About what happened."

"I don't-"

"Sammy," Dean said gently, moving to his brother's bedside, wanting so much to be able to comfort him. "You gotta tell him what happened to you so they can lock that kid away in prison."

Sam shook his head. "Dean, I can't."

"Yes, you can. You're strong and you're brave and I'll be right here the whole time."

"No!" Sam's wide eyes shot to Dean' face. "No. You're not gonna be in here."

"Sam."

"No."

"Guess I'll just go wait in the hall, then." Dean put his hand on Sam's arm, ignored the way it made his brother flinch. "You'll be okay. I promise. I'm not gonna let anything else happen to you."

Sam just nodded and waited for Dean to leave.

**oxo**

Dean sat outside Sam's door in a loose wheelchair he found down the hall for what felt like hours. He was eventually allowed back in when the officer left, took up his chair beside Sam again, and immediately wanted to know what they'd talked about, what the officer had had to say.

Sam told him that the city was going to send over a court appointed attorney to 'handle his case.' But Sam, more than anything, didn't want to have to endure a trial.

And that was what he told the lawyer when she stopped by the hospital the following day before he was to be released. "I just want this all to be over," Sam said.

"But you can't just let that guy walk away without getting punished," Dean argued.

"He won't," the lawyer assured Dean. "We have DNA evidence, Sam's statement, plus statements from the girls who found him and half a dozen from students and a teacher that were outside and witnessed him following Sam. Not to mention the kids coming forward to the principal about the bullying. We've got a good case. He's definitely going to see time even if we make a deal, offer a plea bargain. He's an adult and you're still a minor, Sam. We've got really good chances if we go to trial."

"I don't want this any more public than it already is. I just want it _over._"

Of course, what it boiled down to was that Sam wanted to _forget it ever happened_ and he didn't want their father to find out about it. And he wasn't the only one that wanted it all over – apparently Jason Russell's family didn't want the case to see trial, didn't want the bad publicity to mar the family name any more than it already had.

Sam's became the quickest settled case in Washington County. But it was still all over the papers two and a half weeks later when John finally made it back, not that he saw it. He was in a hurry to get on to the next hunt, didn't even ask the boys how things had gone while he'd been away - not that he ever did - and Sam was more than willing to pack up his meager possessions and load up the Impala. John didn't even question Sam's lack of argument about being uprooted again.

A day later they ended up somewhere in southern Colorado, a thousand miles away from Sam's living nightmare. John was off again, leaving Sam and Dean in a too-small motel room after three months of the sprawling space of the house. Just like the past few weeks, Sam spent nearly all his free time sleeping – which could easily have been dismissed as normal for a teenage boy, but Dean knew it was more than that. That Sam was avoiding dealing with what had happened by sleeping time away. He sat on the bed Sam was tangled in, gently shook his brother's shoulder. "Sammy?" As much as he wished Sam could forget what happened, repress it, Dean knew well enough he'd never be able to – would just end up shutting everything else out while holding on to that one thing he wanted to forget. He didn't want this _thing_ to control Sam, force him to hide from life. From Dean.

Sam rolled over towards Dean, messy mop of hair falling over his eyes as he pushed blankets away from his face. "Hmm?"

"Sammy? Can we talk? Please?"

Sam's eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on Dean's face. At his brother's closeness, he pulled the blankets tighter around his body and shrunk away. His gaze fell to the faded floral pattern of the bedspread. "Talk about what?"

Dean sighed, stretched himself out on the edge of the mattress. "You. About what's going on with you."

"I'm fine, Dean."

"No, you're not. And it's okay, Sammy. After what he did to you..." Dean shrugged the shoulder he wasn't laying on. "You don't have to be okay yet, Sam."

"But I _am._ I'm _fine._"

"I know you, Sam. And I see what you're doing. Just talk to me, don't push me away."

Sam lifted his gaze to meet Dean's – the first time they'd achieved full eye-contact since Sam was in the hospital. "I'm sorry." His face crumpled and his voice wavered. "I don't know what else to do."

Dean pulled Sam, in his cocoon of bedclothes, to his chest, held him tightly even though Sam cringed. "Just let me in," he whispered against Sam's hair before his brother started trembling in his arms. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you, right?"

Sam hesitated, then nodded. "I know," he sniffled, still tense.

Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Sam's head and just held on. And they spent the night like that. And the next night, the night after that, until Sam didn't tense under Dean's touch, didn't shy away or hide.

"It started a couple weeks after I started tutoring Katie," Sam whispered the night before their father was due back from Denver. "Jason- he was just being an asshole at first. Called me names. Stupid stuff. Then it got more physical. Knocked my books on the floor, shoved me into my locker. Shit like that."

"He hit you?"

Sam nodded, his hair ruffling under Dean's chin, and his arms slipped around Dean's waist. "Yeah. One day, it just stopped. Then Katie broke up with him."

"Why'd she do that?"

Sam lifted his head from Dean's chest and stared down at his brother. "Because I told her I was done tutoring her. She got her grade up, so I was done. But she knew that without me for an excuse, she couldn't see you anymore, I guess." He shrugged and laid back down.

"You're saying she broke up with him for me and that's why he- that's why he-"

Sam heard Dean's heartbeat quicken under his ear, felt as Dean's breath became more erratic. "No. Just saying Jason's an asshole that blames everybody else for his problems."

"Sam, he did this to you because of _me_." Dean sat up, taking Sam with him, and held his brother at arm's-length, wide green eyes raking over Sam's face, lingering on the scar that curved around the outside of Sam's left eye. Dean's right hand moved up to Sam's face, palm cupping Sam's cheek as his thumb stroked down the scar. "This is my fault. Sammy, I did this to you."

Sam felt his stomach drop as Dean let go of him, as Dean pulled away frantically, nearly falling backwards out of the bed in his haste. "Dean, no. No. You didn't."

Dean stumbled against the foot of the other bed and nearly tumbled again, horrified gaze still focused on Sam's face as he blindly headed towards the bathroom. "My fault."

Sam climbed out of the bed and followed after his brother. "It's not."

But in some convoluted way, it was. And Dean locked himself in the bathroom, wretched his greasy, gas-station dinner into the grimy bowl of the toilet and ignored Sam's pounding on the door. Images of Sam laid up in the hospital with bandages and stitches all over; the memory of watching Sam climb out of that metal-framed bed, moving all stiff and awkward because of how much pain he was in; everything after, that horrible, broken look in Sam's eyes, the way he couldn't stand to be touched and the way he eventually relaxed against Dean, looked at his big brother with trust. Trust Dean didn't deserve because he'd _failed_ the one job he had. He hadn't kept Sammy safe. His brother was hurt and it was because of him.

"_Dean_," Sam cried, slapping his hand against the peeling veneer on the door. "Please. I'm sorry."

Even after his stomach was empty, Dean stayed hunched on his knees, elbows on the toilet seat. Sam had long since gone quiet outside the door and Dean hoped he'd just gone back to bed, gone to sleep, because he didn't know how he was supposed to face his little brother now. He climbed back to his feet and flushed the toilet. The taste still lingered in his mouth, cheeseburger and guilt, and he reached for his toothbrush. He scrubbed his teeth and tongue until all he could taste was mint. He went to the door and quietly unlocked and opened it.

Sam was on the floor, back to the wall, knees to his chest, just to the left of the bathroom. His face turned up to look at Dean, eyes red, cheeks tear-stained. His bottom lip quivered and he bit it as his breath hitched in his chest.

Dean dropped to his knees beside Sam, hands going to Sam's face, thumbs wiping away the warm tears slipping down the cool, drying tracks. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. So sorry."

Then Sam launched himself at Dean, arms wrapping around his brother's neck as he buried his face against Dean's throat, and he sobbed without abandon. "Not your fault."

Dean's arms went around Sam's back and they clung to each other, Sam's hot tears soaking into Dean's t-shirt. He pressed his lips to Sam's temple, spoke softly into Sam's ear. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I screwed up. Never wanted to hurt you." He hugged Sam tighter. "Love you," he whispered fiercely.

Sam's hiccupping breaths abruptly stopped, lungs temporarily forgetting how to function, as he tilted his head back to look up at Dean. It wasn't the words his brother had spoken that gave him pause, but _how_ he'd said them. "Dean?" This was the dirty little secret Jason had figured out with just one look at Sam. This is what had driven him to do to Sam what he had instead of just beating him up. Sam knew there was more behind it than just that, but...it didn't matter just then, not with Dean holding him so tightly.

"Sammy?" Dean's eyes searched Sam's face, not quite sure what was happening between them. He felt the shifting, like the subtle change in pressure or the way the air became charged before a storm, as Sam stared up at him with those expressive hazel eyes. Sam's lips parted, tongue darting out to wet the lower, and he leaned ever-so-slightly closer. There was no way, especially after what had happened, that his little brother was telling him what he thought he was.

"Dean, please." His arms slipped further around Dean's neck, bringing Dean's face closer to his.

Dean hadn't misread Sam's actions. He was so conflicted. For years he'd tried to deny the feelings he'd developed for his little brother, had been able to squash them down and hide them away, but seeing Sam hurt and in the hospital had brought them all back to the surface. And now, Sam in his arms, looking up at him with such love and want in his eyes...But after what that kid, that _monster_, had done to Sam, Dean couldn't take advantage even if Sam seemed willing. Dean shook his head, yet angled closer to Sam. "No."

Didn't matter, Sam could see that Dean wanted it just as bad as he did, could see his brother's defenses slipping. He tilted his head, pressed his mouth nearer. "Please?"

"Sammy..."

"Take it away. Make it better. _Please._" He tentatively closed his mouth over Dean's, felt Dean slump into him as he gave in, his mouth opening against Sam's.

Dean kissed Sam slowly, wanted to take everything slow. He secured his hold on Sam, lifted him up as he rose to his feet and pulled him towards the bed. Sam's arms slipped from around his neck as he pushed his little brother down to the mattress, followed after and settled beside him. "Don't worry, Sammy," Dean told him, pressing their foreheads together as he brushed Sam's hair out of his eyes, "I'll fix you."


End file.
